It was kind of horrible waiting for them to open the door. Charlotte looked idly at the peephole staring her level in the face. The gold trim was chipped and the looking glass portion looked cracked. All around it the paint was peeling, sanded completely in the top left hand corner. ”This place needs some TLC. Not a gutting, just some work,” she thought to herself. It definitely would have charm, especially if the color weren’t a horrible shade of green.
Idly, Charlotte looked down at the piece of paper she held in her hand. Irene’s scrawling cursive was loopy and quick, barely legible to a person who hadn’t seen it before. Apartment 1616. It was listed as having 3 tenants, though next to it was a crossed out seven. Charlotte’s eyebrows knit together unsure just as she heard the hinges on the door squeak open. The wood snarled as the threshold to the apartment behind her was revealed. Barring her from entering was a disheveled looking brunette, her hair still knotted on the side of her head while her clothes looked hastily put on. Worse, thick black eye liner and mascara from the night before caked her eyes. Charlotte swallowed, feeling the slight flush to her cheeks fade while she stumbled for words. Bringing a hand to push her hair back from her face she gulped air only to be hit by a heavy cloud of marijuana smoke that had her stifle a cough.
“...Can I help you?" the brunette asked crudely. To Charlotte she looked extremely irritated that she had even had to open the door. To avoid her scrutinizing gaze, the redhead glanced back down at the paper for a name. She was finding it difficult to be the standoffish girl she usually could be.
“I, um,” she stumbled with words, licking her lips before she looked up and across the living room to see a semi-dressed rather attractive young man holding a joint in his hand. Charlotte’s eyes narrowed to focus on him. He was in direct violation of their lease agreement. Shifting her weight, Charlotte leaned into the door frame, checking her slip of paper a second time.
“My name is Charlotte Arden. I’m here on behalf of Irene, the building manager. She noted that you missed your rent payment and, well,” she explained, looking up and into the brunette’s face with as much confidence, or whatever sass she could muster. “It’s due,” she added, biting on her lower lip as she folded the paper back into her pocket. “It says that the primary tenant is Cleo Milson though a Greyson Walker co-signed. Are either of them here?”